Sick Note or Jailbird
by eat.sweetdreams.emotions
Summary: *Begins from my own take of when Callie discovers Cole sent Brandon the texts* The tragic tale of how Callie Jacob came by these two nicknames. BrandonxCallie
1. Out of Control

Callie's PoV

He's ruined it. He's ruined everything. Cole, or Nicole, I couldn't care less, has just destroyed my only lifeline to my life before Girls United. Brandon refuses to answer my texts, calls anything. According to my Rita he refuses to come and visit with the others, leaving me alone with them. I wouldn't mind as much, if they all didn't distrust me. Jude, who once looked upon me with a beaming face, his innocence being the one part that remained from his old life, now stares at me coldly. He's bitter and resentful around me, but Stef explained that he's fine at home. A little quieter perhaps, but can still hold a conversation and still hangs around with his friend. Jesus and Mariana are awkward around me now, shifting uncomfortably when I'm near them. Lena is still her warm self, but is reluctant to speak about becoming a family or inviting me home after my six months is finished here. Stef, however, is different. She isn't unfriendly but isn't happy around me. It's as if she has no feelings towards me anymore, shows no signs of emotion when in my presence, just a body who pays me occasional visits.  
The visits, my God, are horrible. Three weeks ago I would have given everything to spend a mere few minutes in the company of my old foster family. Now, those precious minutes are torment. The whole idea of these 'family' visits is to raise the inhabitants' spirits, and encourage them to do well in the house. I now find myself dreading they day they pull up in the car I once shared with them, all looking obscenely solemn.  
I know it's my fault they are so miserable around me, and dismal everywhere else. Jude told me they were crazy excited to adopt us, and expand their family further. Then I left, and they were devastated. Lena and Stef's honeymoon was spoiled by me, and apparently they fight a whole lot more. Their schedule is overflowing with meetings with social workers and my various Probation Officers, appointments with the court who were reviewing my case, the visits here and lastly, their hectic travelling up and down the country to make sure everything is covered with anything and anything to do with me and Jude. I never asked for them to do all this for us, or for Jude anyway, however I'm eternally grateful to them for not giving up on him. He hates me, but at least he doesn't hate them. I can hardly forgive myself for what I've done to him already.  
In short, Brandon was the only one who wasn't uncomfortable around me, who still looked at me the same way, who still talked to me about everything and nothing, who told me what actually was happening at home. He still held me the same way. He still kissed me the same way. He gave me the support I needed, and was the one who kept me from slipping under. Brandon was the only one who showed they still cared about me. The last one who still cared if I was managing okay, and if I was lonely, and even if I was being hurt or neglected by the other girls here at the home. Of course I didn't tell him when Cole pushed me, or when Becka would insult me. But he cared, and that's all I cared about.  
Now, everything's different. He hates me. At first, I didn't know why. I thought it was maybe because he was sick of me, bored even. I began to worry, thinking he had used me like Liam, or he had left me for Talya. It scared me to ponder about such assumptions, so I just told myself he was being put under pressure by his mums, and that he was trying to cover everything up. I knew it was a lie, and that it was only something I told myself to put the demons to bed. I would have preferred that to the truth.  
God, I hated the truth.

"Cole!" I screamed his name, marching through the crowds of people, my head spinning with rage. Girls United were currently visiting the San Diego Aquarium, chosen specifically by Rita so we could appreciate the difference in species. She hoped that we would realize that everybody is unique, and each has their own strengths and weaknesses, and that isn't something to be ashamed of. In truth, I did feel equal to the fish – but not for the right reasons. We were all trapped, them in their tanks, me in the Group Home. Both of us answered only to our keepers, and lived by their terms and conditions.  
"Cole!" I was screaming at the top of my lungs, the phone Lena and Stef had gifted me with enclosed in my clenched fists. I didn't care who watched me as I bounded through the rows of tanks and tourists, my mind was focused on one thing; finding Cole, and making him pay.  
I stopped dead in my tracks, when I reached the exotic marine life section. Cole stood, half leaning against an interactive table, half standing. He was wearing her best clothes – all made for men of course. A blue t-shirt and a pair of jeans. His appearance wasn't what struck me about Cole; I'm past all of that. No, it was his company. A girl, maybe a little older than me, with ginger hair and freckles, was giggling beside Cole, blushing every now and then. I felt instantly disgusted by the whole scenario. Not because I was against Cole being transgender at all. I understood that. But seeing him happy, in a relationship perhaps, made the blood pound in my ears. He destroyed my shred of refuge from the world, so it was only fair if he received the same fate.  
"Found yourself a new _girlfriend_ have we Nicole?" I leered, approaching Cole and this mystery victim. Cole's face was none too familiar to my own, when Jude had caught me and Brandon at the wedding.  
"You are?" the girl asked, looking at me with clear repulsion. So she was the bitchy type? Cute.  
"Oh I'm Callie. Me and Nicole live in the group home down the road. You might have heard of it – Girls United?"  
"Cole, what is she talking about?" She clearly wasn't aware of Cole's true identity, undoubtedly been fed lies about Cole's more _masculine _background.  
"I don't know, Stacey, I've never seen her before in my life." The lack of colour in her face clearly said otherwise.  
"Really, Nicole? I'm pretty sure you saw me when I accidently walked in on you in the bathroom. You were wrapping up your chest area, weren't you?"  
I'm not one to tell on others, but I was on autopilot, my fury influencing my every word and gesture. And I had no idea if Nicole was Cole's given name, but I had to catch him out somehow.  
"Cole, is that true?" Stacey was starting to edge a little away from him, her face twisting into one of revulsion. Cole stared at me, and at her, with panic.  
"Of course not . . . I mean she's . . . she's . . . she's just jealous! Yes, that's it! Jealous! Jealous of me and you!"  
"Why would I date you, Nicole? I'm not into girls" I answered. Stacey made a noise of horror, and backed away.  
"Don't talk to me" she quickly muttered, before running off. Cole turned to me, his teeth bared.  
"You did that on purpose, didn't you? You wanted her to run away!" Cole was screaming at me, angrily.  
"It's not a good feeling is it, your only true friend being ripped apart from you!" I replied. Cole's jaw tightened, as did his whole body in fact. As if he was about to transform into the Hulk or something. "I know what you did Cole. I know you sent Brandon those texts."  
His beady eyes flickered up to stare into mine, cold and dark. Much like a shark's before they go in for the kill. It was intended to frighten me, but with no success. I had received that look many times before; past foster parents, foster siblings, police, street rats, the girls in juvie, _Liam_. I didn't work on me anymore. I wasn't a little girl anymore.  
"So? He was going to leave you sooner or later. For all you know he could have been exploiting you, using you only for your looks. Sex even. I did you a favour; I saved you from a potential rap - ."  
I refused to listen to the last words, refused to hear Brandon being labelled a . . . a . . . a _Liam_. I turned myself around and stormed away. I heard Cole screaming for me to face him, I heard him calling me a coward. In all honesty, I couldn't care less. I only wanted to leave here and break free from _my_ tank. I had to see Brandon, and tell him how much I need him. How badly I miss him.  
Suddenly, I heard a voice behind me. I mean right behind me. Cole had caught up and he was attempting to patronize me again. I swivelled my head round to tell him to leave me alone, when something unexpected happened. He struck me in the face with his fist. I was instantly knocked down to the floor, my forehead bouncing off the hard stone floor. Cole twisted my body round, the whole right side of my face throbbing, and threw himself on top of me. He had begun to pummel me with hard punches. I wriggled underneath him, my legs kicking out as an attempt to break free.  
It's not like I hadn't been beaten up before, and I certainly wasn't afraid of Cole. Only, my stomach felt as if it was exploding from the inside out, my bones crushing inwards. And I worried, for this had happened only once before, and the result wasn't a comforting thought now that I was experiencing this pain once more.  
"Get off me Cole!" I rasped, my breath running short. My thought was becoming clogged, and I was inhaling and exhaling deeply.  
Cole continued, oblivious to my obvious distress. He punched me once more in the face, my eye in fact. I cried out, just as I felt a huge amount of pressure leave my body. Cole had been roughly pulled off by the scruff of his collar. Rita stood, and was screaming something down his ear. The other girls helped me to my feet, with the exception of Becka.  
Rita turned to examine me, and for a second I thought I saw a little pity in her eyes, and I was unsure whether it was intended for either me or Cole. It was gone though, as quickly as it had appeared. "Girls, get Callie to the van, I'll be right behind with Cole."

The dinner table was practically silent; the spine-chilling clash of knifes and plates being the only sound heard. Jesus would occasionally look up into the eyes of sister, Mariana, then look quickly down, and continue to shuffle his food around with his fork. Jude hadn't touched his couscous, simply staring ahead, his hands hung limply by his side. Stef and Lena, both situated at opposite ends of the table, were observing this scene, with anxiousness. When their eyes met, they would try to reassure the other with a gentle smile. Lena knew all of them had formed some sort of attachment to Callie, an attachment they felt she had snapped when she ran away. It hurt them all, Jude perhaps the most, and left them all desolate. Once upon a time, dinner was Stef's favourite time of day, where she could talk to her kids and listen to them talk about their day. She would laugh at Jude's stories, marvel at the boy adventures of Mariana's, take joy in scolding Jesus for the silly things. She adored gazing at Lena, and Brandon, two of her five accomplishments. Callie, well Callie she thought would never cease to amaze her. Amaze her with her reckless actions, amaze her with her devotion and compassion she felt for her brother, amaze her with her bravery, amaze her with her strength, amaze her with her choices, amaze her with the harrowing tales of her past. Stef was thoroughly intrigued by this sixteen year old, and felt it her duty to offer this girl refuge from the worst of her memories. But then Callie ran away, and all dreams of looking after her and caring for her as their own, dissolved.  
Stef hated what had happened to her family. It had been three weeks, and she knew it had been caused by Callie. She also knew that this state of depression Brandon was going through, currently wallowing in hurt, had more than likely been brought on by Callie. She wasn't sure what either of them had done, but she saw the effects it was taking on her son – on all her family.  
The sudden echo of the landline broke into Stef's chain of thoughts, as she excused herself from the table. She hastily walked to the phone, and picked it up. She inhaled, and spoke the first words.  
"Hello, this is Stef Foster speaking." The familiar voice of the plump Girls United Home Manager replied.  
"Hello, Stef, this is Rita Carvirello, from Girls United. Am I interrupting dinner with your family?"  
"Um, no we had just finished. Is this about Callie?" Stef's voice came across slightly urgent, the motherly side of her showing.  
"Yes, it is about Callie. She got into a fight today, with one of the other girls here." This caused Stef to sigh, not a bored or exasperated sigh, but a shocked sigh. More like a gasp.  
"What was it about? Is she badly injured? Is she being punished? Is she being sent to juvie again?"  
"No, she's not being sent back to juvie again, fortunately, and she isn't being punished harshly. We felt she being hurt was fair enough." There was no empathy in her voice, whilst Stef's was struggling to stay calm.  
"So she was hurt?" Stef inquired, her heart leaping from her chest, as she found a seat on the steps.  
"Yes, she was. Just a few scrapes and bruises on her face, cuts, and some bruised ribs, could be cracked. The doctor is just patching her up now. And don't worry, the other person involved has been removed from our establishment."  
Stef recoiled, all colour draining from her face. However angry she was with Callie for making her family so unhappy, she still felt a sense of responsibility and affection for her. Something inside Stef was touched by Callie, and bear to see her hurt, both physically and emotionally.  
"Can we come and see her tomorrow still?" her voice was surprisingly eager, and filled with need. "To see if she's okay?"  
There was a long pause; such a long pause that Stef feared Rita had hung up. To be deprived of visiting Callie when she so clearly was frustrated or angry or distressed at this home, would be like not allowing a mother to say goodbye to her dying child; devastating, heartbreaking and catastrophic. And in some ways, Stef felt like Callie was now her child. The poor girl hadn't had a mother in six years, or one who truly cared for her anyway, and Stef wanted to let Callie know she was always there to nurture her and love her, like a mother would. She wanted to be there for Callie.  
Suddenly a deep sigh crackled though the phone, and fortunately proved her wrong. Rita was still there, after spending what seemed like hours on her answer.  
"I'm afraid that would be a problem, Ms Foster. Callie has had her privileges stripped from her for the next two weeks." Stef let out a huge amount of breath she didn't realise she had been holding in. She felt crushed.  
"Oh, okay, I see. Well, tell her we all said hi and miss her. A lot" Stef said. Her voice was cracking, her eyes glazing over with tears. She was about to hang up the phone, when Rita quickly stopped her.  
"Mrs Foster, I suggest that you don't tell your children about Callie. Especially your oldest son. Or her brother. It would most likely lead to a riot on your hands."  
Stef agreed, and then put the phone down. Lena heard her wife say her goodbyes, and rushed into the hallway. She noticed Stef's pale face, and the tears brimming in her eyes.  
"What is it, Stef?" Lena's voice was filled with concern, as she grabbed Stef's hands and held them comfortingly.  
"It's Callie. It seems she's got herself into another fight." Lena gasped, and led her wife further away from the door and nearer the stairs. "What about?"  
"Rita didn't say."  
"Was . . . was she hurt?" Stef looked down, hardly excited to see Lena's disappointed and anxious expression. "Stef, was Callie hurt?"  
"Rita said her face is bruised, and cut, and that the she could have a few cracked ribs" Stef's voice was hushed, but not hushed quite enough to stop Lena from hearing her.  
"Cracked ribs? How violent was the fight?" Stef hurriedly quietened Lena, to prevent their kids from listening in.  
"Bad enough. But Jesus and Mariana, Jude and Brandon, aren't to know about this. Rita thinks it will only worry them. Or in her words _'__lead to a riot'_."  
"Well that's reassuring" Lena sighed, running her slender fingers through her frizzy hair. "Can we see her? Tomorrow is family day, isn't it?"  
"We can't see her until three weeks tomorrow. Her privileges have been taken away from her."  
"For what? My God, Stef, the girl got beat up, received internal damages, and _she_ is not allowed to see her family!"  
"She is not our daughter, Lena, however badly we want her to be!" Stef retaliated, hoarsely. This took Lena by surprise.  
"Stef, that girl is in desperate need of a family right now. We said we weren't willing to have her in the house just yet, and I stick to our decision, but that does not mean we cannot still support her all the same. Although officially and physically she might not be part of our family, but mentally and emotionally, she is. And I will stand by her, and I will love her."  
Lena kissed Stef on the cheek tenderly, then briskly returned to the kitchen to help the others clean up. Stef just put her face in her hands, groaned a little, then got up to go and treat herself to a nice and hot shower.


	2. Group Chat

**A.N/ Just a quick note to thank the people reviewed and followed this story. It means a lot. Also, I think an apology is called for. I'm sorry for referring to Cole as 'she/her'. I know it put some people off, so I changed. Please understand that I was very conflicted writing their chapter, knowing that whatever I called him, people would disagree. And I understand a lot of people find the fact Cole was kicked out, but Callie wasn't a bit unfair, but trust me, it will make sense later on. And quickly, if anyone has a problem with this chapter, please PM me, not leave a bad review. Thank you.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Fosters, because if I did Callie and Brandon would be together forever and ever.**

Chapter Two

Chairs squeaked across floors and footsteps thundered throughout the giant house. Colourful pillows were thrown onto the seats by a dark-skinned woman with short black hair. She had set the chairs into a circle. The five girls all slumped in, and chose a set to perch themselves in. A particularly wide girl found a place beside another dark-skinned girl, whilst a blonde haired girl and a girl with hint of a Japanese heritage sat across from them. A girl who shared a striking resemblance to that of the opposite sex was situated as far across from the others as she (or he) could get.  
"Where's Callie?" the oldest one there, Michelle, inquired. The girls all shrugged, all but the wider girl.  
"She's just coming down the stairs – Rita's helping her."  
True to her word, two figures emerged through the doorway. One was a round woman with glasses slipping down her nose. She had her arm held out, supporting the young girl. The girl had wavy medium length hair, dark like chocolate. She was quite tanned too. She wore baggy black sweatpants and a white baggy shirt which hung off one shoulder. A huge plaster could be seen through the thin material. She was incredibly pretty, and the other girls, all pretty in their own ways, couldn't help but feel a little intimidated by this. However the purple bruise that decorated her cheekbone, and the deep, three inch long gash running along her forehead - just under the white scar she was already sporting - which was disguised by the very neat stitches, made her appear rougher than she actually was.  
Four of the five girls instantly bounded up to assist the injured Callie to her seat, which was by far the most comfy. She groaned in pain slightly as she slid into the armchair, and clenched her fists. The girls made sure she was okay, and then went back to their respective chairs.  
"Are we all ready?" the round woman, Rita, asked. All five girls nodded in answer, as Rita found her chair.  
"Well, usually in these group sessions we discuss our emotions, and our aspirations, and our thoughts. After what happened with Callie, I saw just how much anger is inside all of you. I think that it's about time you release all that anger, and get it out of your system. I spoke to Michelle beforehand, and we both have agreed that talking about past experiences will help you along the way to become a better person. This is called the line in the sand theory."  
"It sounds stupid" muttered the blonde haired girl, who had her cardigan wrapped around her arms and legs.  
"If you don't like it Becka, you are welcome to walk away. Just know if you do leave this room now, it affects your privileges, the amount of chores you receive, and how much longer you spend in here. As an estimate, I would say you would probably spend another week more in here, perhaps two." Rita could have been helping the girl, Becka, to minimise her agony in this establishment, or she could have been using it to intimidate her or bribe her. Either one was possible. And anyway, it worked. Becka huffed and threw her head back against the sofa.  
"So we basically just talk about what makes us angry? Like what we hate and stuff?" the girl with cornrows hair asked.  
"If you want Daphne, you can. But what we're really looking for is the _events_ that have caused you to feel angry. Events that have made you frustrated, or furious, or hurt, or events that have ultimately ended your ability to _trust._" With the last word, Rita quickly glanced at Callie, who was exactly opposite her. Callie looked down almost immediately.  
"Who wants to go first?" When nobody answered, Rita turned to the girl opposite her; Kiara. She motioned for her to talk, so she groaned.  
"Fine" she sighed. She leaned forward and began. "I guess it would have to be when I was twelve and my brother assaulted that man – a cop I think. He had basically been caught dealing drugs. Don't get me wrong, he wasn't a huge drug user, it was only a way of paying the bills and everything. To look after us. Well anyway, a cop saw him. My brother would have been arrested, if he didn't smash the cop against the pavement and make a run for it. He ran five blocks to our flat, where he then hid in the bathtub. I went in, to see him shaking, his hands smeared in red blood. It scared me how scared he looked, how scared he was. I couldn't understand how people like us were under so much threat just trying to live. It frustrated me massively. The next day police came round and arrested him. He was let out last year, but just got given life."  
Kiara's face had twisted into one of longing, the same face Callie was positive she had on every day. It was the longing for a loved one.  
"Thank you Kiara, that is exactly what we needed to hear. Do you feel any better, like any of that frustration has disappeared, even if it is a little bit?" Rita inquired, politely. Kiara nodded.  
"Can I go next?" Daphne asked eagerly. Rita smiled warmly at her, and nodded. She gestured for her to begin.  
"I was at school one day, when I was fourteen. The Head was doing an assembly about drug use, and, well, I was feeling a little insecure 'cause I used drugs. They were using people from other countries as examples, you know, for their stories. They were showing us how drugs could ruin our lives, and the affect they had and everything. Then a picture of me came up. They used my name and everything. The Head told the whole school about my family, and how we all used drugs. It was an attempt to get people to pity us, and for me to see people's reactions. They hoped it would get me to stop, or at least influence other people to help me. But after the assembly, nobody would talk to me, ignored me, and refused to be near me. I was humiliated. I knew that half the school were somehow involved with drugs, but because I was the one called out, they had to hate me. I felt like an outsider."  
The whole group sympathised with Daphne, as they too all felt like outsiders when it came to outside the home. All of them had experienced the mocking and teasing that came along with simply being who they were, whether it was a drug-user, or a transgender, or a troublemaker, or a foster kid. All of them had felt the wrath of people who found their situations laughable or disagreeable, and had made their lives miserable.  
"I'm almost certain everyone here can relate to your humiliation, Daphne" Rita told her, warmly. "Anyone want to go next?" Gabi sat forward, raising her hand slightly.  
"You all know why I'm here. I was a cyberbully. It was a girl, whose name was Jeanne. She, well, she was a bitch. She treated me like dirt, and anyone who wasn't like her. She wasn't a cheerleader but one of the posh girls who turn their noses up at people like us. Jeanne would make fun of me day after day, but I would ignore her. Then one day, I snapped. It was over something as typical as boys. She had found out by asking around who I fancied, and she had approached him about me. She told him I liked him, and then made up a bunch of lies about me, and made me look like such an idiot. The lies got around, and suddenly everyone thought I had slept with my cousin or something stupid like that. I was the girl nobody liked, but everybody talked about. And I hated it. So I found my revenge."  
"Do you think that was the best way to show this girl how much she hurt you?" Rita asked her, cocking her head to the side. Gabi looked down at her feet, and shook her head. "But I understand your reasons behind the decision, and I'm sorry." Gabi simply looked up, and sighed.  
"Carmen, how about you?" Michelle asked, turning to the girl wearing camouflage pants. "Do you want to share?" The girl agreed, and coughed, preparing herself.  
"I'm pretty angry at my uncle. He's in the army too, and he goes away every few months for work. He came home a few weeks before I came here, and we were talking. I told him I wanted to be in the army too, and he just laughed at me. He said the army was no place for _'__little girls'_ like me, and told me to become a checkout girl instead, or a pole dancer. He said at least I would make money. He told all my brothers, and they all started laughing too. I was so furious with my uncle for thinking I couldn't do anything he could do, or at least be as good as him."  
"Carmen, you will be an excellent soldier, and I have every bit of faith in you." Rita, despite her cruel manner she used at times, was actually a very supportive and caring woman. Carmen nodded her thanks, and sat back.  
"Rita, can I go next?" Becka piped up, nervously. Rita's eyes widened in surprise. Clearly her, and the rest of the girls in fact, weren't expecting Becka to be the one to volunteer.  
"Well, I don't know if you remember when I first got here, but I was pretty shaken up. Two days before the judge had sentenced me here, I had been arrested. It was my first arrest, so I wasn't prepared or knew what was going to happen to me. Anyway, I was in the crack house, with a couple of my friends. We were all . . . high, and just enjoying our time there. Suddenly these officers stormed through the door, and dragged us all outside. Some of my friends were beaten up, some of my friends tried to run. I was knelt on the grass, my hands behind my head, confused and scared. You could say that experience changed my perspective on the carefree aspects of being involved with drugs. I no longer _want_ to be scared."  
All the girls in that room knew exactly what being arrested felt like. And they all knew what their first arrest was like. It was terrifying.  
"Well, Becka, do feel any better than you did before, knowing that the four other girls here all have at some point shared than same fear?" No one had needed to tell Rita that; she could see it all over their faces.  
"A little bit" Becka replied, which made Rita smile at her. Progress had been made with everyone, or at least Rita knew at least one of the many reasons they all were how they were. Only one girl was left.  
"Callie, I know you're having trouble trusting all of us at the moment, but are you willing to tell us why you can't? At least one reason?"  
Callie shuffled uncomfortably on her seat, clutching her stomach with her hand. "Just one reason?" Rita nodded.  
"Callie, trust me, none of us will judge you. Tell us what you need to tell us. Don't worry about what anybody thinks. Just get it off your chest" Rita told her.  
"No, she's not going to say anything. She thinks she's too perfect, so much better than we are. Of course she doesn't have anything traumatising to tell us. I mean, she got arrested for stealing a _sandwich_. She ran away because she _kissed her foster brother_. I'm in here for dealing drugs, and she's in here because she can't deal with the littlest of problems" Becka ranted, scoffing. The other girls looked around, uncomfortably glancing at Callie, clearly doubting her. Rita raised her eyebrows, and turned to the girl in question. She obviously wanted to see if Callie could prove herself to the girls, and actually talk and trust them. That was why she was there anyway. Well, that and the court gave her the option of Girls United or juvie again.  
"Um, I don't know. I know you all want me to tell you the most embarrassing thing or scariest thing that happened to me, the thing that made me hate the world. I know you all think I'm some drama queen, and that I'm hardly group home material. In all honesty, I'm fine with that being my label. It's better than what I've been called before. But clearly, that bothers you all. I'm nothing compared to you all. I wish I could tell you. I mean, I doubt it will make any of you understand me any better, or like me any better or whatever. I feel like if I tell you what I have to say, you'll all probably think I'm looking for pity or attention, but I'm not. I really don't want any sympathy. If I tell you one of the many reasons I am the way I am, building walls up to shut you all out, I really hope you'd all just accept me. Not pity me, but accept me. So, I will tell _my story_, or whatever you all want to call it."  
Callie bit her lip, and took a deep breath. All the girls leaned forward, waiting for Callie to start.  
"I've been to court four times. The two times I was arrested, once to hear my dad's judgement, and most recently for when I had to testify for a case I was involved in. I . . . um . . . I told my foster mums about a foster family I had before them. I'd met their new foster daughter at group, and I learned she liked the family's son. Liam Olmstead. I was involved with him too, once upon a time. I mean, I was fourteen when I lived with them. When their son . . . when he . . . when he raped me."  
"I told my foster mums about it about a month ago, and my social worker was called. He filed a report. A week or so later, I went to court. I had been told by a social worker to lie and tell the judge that what happened between me and the past foster brother was consensual. That I had allowed him to have sex with me, even though he was nineteen at the time That would have caught him on the underage law, and he would probably have been held in prison for a few weeks, maybe even months. His family is rich though, so he would almost certainly have gotten away with it."  
"I couldn't lie about what he had done to me, and so I stuck to the truth and told the court what had actually happened. How Liam had burst into my room, asked if we could _do it_, and how I told him to back off. I had told him I wasn't ready, and told him how scared I was of being caught. We both knew that if we were, me _and_ my little brother would be sent away immediately. Yet, when I rejected him, he changed into some raging monster. He had been nice and gentle about the subject before, but I discovered that was just a facade he built to deceive me. He ripped my clothes off, and forced himself on me. The rest of the family were out, I think it was Jude's school meeting. I screamed at him repeatedly, but I think that's what made it all the more enjoyable for him. I was ultimately kicked out the next week, with Jude, after I told the parents what happened between me and Liam, afraid they would find out and _assumeI willingly _had sex with their son. They refused to believe he had raped me, and he had refused to admit it. He lied and told them I was the one who forced myself upon him. That _I_ was desperate. Of course his family were humiliated. I was the worthless foster girl no one wanted, and if word got out I had been intimate with their son, they would never live it down. The fact they heard me tell the court that their son had actually raped me, was when they realized I had been serious. But when they sat there and comforted him _still_, it hurt me."  
"I was raped. No one but the two adults who took me in, and their son, believed me. No one else but the few people who were sat in that court knows. So, yeah, you could call me traumatised."  
Nobody spoke a word. Nobody made any sound or movement. They were all too shocked to do anything but stare at the girl in front of them, mouths agape and eyes widened. Rita was emotionless. She had folded her arms across her lap, and was breathing deeply.  
Callie had tears in her eyes, and was subconsciously fiddling with her gold coin necklace, sliding her fingers over the battered material. Her hands were very clearly shaking, as was her bottom lip. She stood up, her hand quickly finding a place on her stomach when the pain shot through. She gave one last teary-eyed glance at the girls, all still too stunned and all still speechless, and then left the room. She weakly hobbled up the stairs, her face twisting into one of physical and emotional pain. She refused to let the tears fall though.  
"Callie, dear, I wish you would have told me or Michelle about your past traumas. We could have avoided that whole scene downstairs." Rita was stood in the doorway of Callie's room, or at least, the room she shared with Cole.  
"You didn't need to know before" Callie replied, simply.  
"Of course I needed to know. It's part of my job to know things" Rita told her, as she perched herself next to Callie on her bed.  
"So you can write reports about us?"  
"No, it's so I can understand you. So I can look after you properly."  
"I thought you weren't really a fan of me."  
"I wasn't a fan of your reclusiveness and your secrets you kept, Callie. But you, no, I wanted you to trust me. You might not think so, dear, but you are a one of a kind. I don't know many people who can face what you have with such courage, and keep it to yourself for so many years."  
"That's called hiding, Rita" Callie said, half-heartedly.  
"No it's called bravery. That's a much sought after quality, Callie, and not many are gifted with it. You are an incredible young woman. That's not something you should hide."  
Callie looked at the woman beside her, with astonishment. She wasn't quite sure if her ears were deceiving her, or if this was some horrid joke. Nobody but Brandon, Stef and Lena had ever told her she was anything but a home wrecker, with everything Liam had ever said about her, or lied about, not included.  
Rita softly patted her back, and got up from the bed. She walked towards the door, but then turned round to face the sixteen year old once more.  
"You can have your privileges back, Callie." Her eyebrows furrowed, and she stared in shock at Rita.  
"Why? Because I told you I was raped? I'd rather not be rewarded for complaining. Thanks, but no thanks."  
"No Callie. They've been given back to you because you spoke out. You contributed to group. You weren't looking for pity. You're being rewarded for trusting. But on one condition. You come with me to the hospital for a visit. There's someone you need to see."


End file.
